Monsters Among Men
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: Arthur signs up for a foreign exchange program and is sent to America. He befriends a variety of extraordinary people, including a lively boy named Alfred. But Arthur's indifferent family has flawed his views on love, and he can't seem to forget a broken promise once made to him by a loved one... USUK. AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Just starting a new story. I hope you enjoy, and if you like where it's going, please drop a review!_

* * *

I remember when I was eight, I stole a dart from my older brother's dartboard. Behind closed doors, I rushed into my bedroom when my parents were at work and my brother was out with friends. I closed my eyes and threw the dart at a world map mounted on my wall, promising myself wherever it landed would become my destination. I ended up hitting somewhere in the Pacific, then the Atlantic, and it wasn't until the third time I hit land.

And, like a miracle, I hit Seattle.

I went downstairs and began to research that city I had heard of a few times. A big city in the United States. I was so enraptured in what I was doing that when my brother came home, I didn't notice until he'd been standing behind my shoulder for a minute or two, reading everything I'd been typing into the search bar.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

I jumped, then turned and tried to look innocent. "Nothing." I suddenly remembered his dart was still upstairs on my wall. I'd forgotten to return it to him!

"Do you want to go there?" he said.

I hesitated. I didn't want him to tell our parents.

He smiled. "Artie? Do you want to get out of this house?"

I still didn't say anything.

He ruffled my hair and crouched down by my chair. He was very old; that's what I thought. He was sixteen and he knew what he was doing. Back then, sixteen was like an adult. "I want to get out of this house, too. I will when I graduate. And when you're older, I promise I'll come back for you." He stood back up. "Do you want me to make you anything to eat? I think we've got some sandwich stuff."

"Allistor?" I asked.

He was already getting out bread and lettuce and turkey by the sink, and he didn't look up. "Mhm?"

"Do Mum and Dad love us?"

"Fuck!" Allistor was slicing a tomato. I guess my question startled him and he'd slipped and cut his finger. He ran it under the sink, looking at me. His eyes were many things at once: apologetic for cursing in front of me, but almost hurt by the question. "They do. Arthur, of course they do. Don't ask things like that."

He gave me a sandwich. I told him about throwing his dart. He wasn't angry. He laughed and promised me he'd take me to Seattle one day. He'd never been to the United States before. We could go together. I liked talking about the future with him, even if it wasn't realistic. But when you're eight and your brother is sixteen and you both are dying to get away, anything can be possible, so long as you have a dream. So long as you have hope.

Allistor ended up leaving that year. He went off as a foreign exchange student to Germany.

He never came back for me.

* * *

This is the memory I am thinking of as I sit on a plane to Seattle, sandwiched between a snoring man and a woman who is wearing too much perfume. I will be in America for one school year, staying with a host family named the Hondas. I have e-mailed the son, Kiku, who is my age—seventeen—and I know that the whole family is Japanese. But Kiku told me both of his parents are second-generation Japanese, so they really act quite a bit like Americans. They can all speak Japanese, but they don't do it that much at home, so it shouldn't be a problem at all. They seem really nice.

Getting on the plane had been strange. Neither of my parents came to see me off. I told them I could get to the airport myself, since they were both working like usual, and my mother told me to call her once I'd landed. She didn't say she'd miss me.

When Allistor went to Germany, my father dropped him off at the airport, only because I'd wanted to say goodbye to him and there was no possible way an eight-year-old would be able to get home from the airport alone. My father said a quick farewell to Allistor and patted his shoulder, then waited in the car with some paperwork while Allistor and I said our goodbyes in the parking lot.

"I'll call you," he promised, pulling the handle of his suitcase up. "And I'll write you letters. The post always makes you smile when it says your name, right?"

"I'll miss you," I said.

He smiled, sadness making him look older than sixteen. "I know. I'll miss you too." He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. "This is for you."

It was a silver cross on a necklace. He wore it to church sometimes, and I'd always admired it. Once he let me wear it to a Christmas service.

"Thank you," I said. I hugged him, tears welling up in my eyes. He embraced me, his mouth near my ear, and said, "I'm going to find a better life in Germany. I am going to build a future. Just wait. Wait through this, okay, laddie? I promise I won't leave you here forever. I will come back." He pulled back and smiled again, grabbing his suitcase. "Goodbye, Artie." I waved as he walked toward the airport, tears blurring my vision. I got back into the car, my lip trembling. My father told me to stop crying.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't.

And now, for some reason, I can't stop crying again. I hate crying—I despise crying—but I can't stop. The woman next to me offers me a tissue. It is heavily perfumed like her, and I say, "Thank you. I apologize for being such a disturbance."

She smiles kindly. "It's all right." She is older than I am, probably about the same age as my mother, but she seems like a good person. A warm person. Yes, that's it. She seems like a warm person, whereas my mother brings to my mind images of frozen wastelands and desolate landscapes. I manage a watery look of appreciation.

By the time the plane lands, I am dry-eyed again. Strange. I don't think I have cried in quite a while. I used to cry a lot when I was younger, especially in the period after Allistor left for Germany. But then I realized it was pointless and my parents thought it to be weak, so I stopped.

The woman gives me a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and an encouraging smile as everyone scrambles around for their carry-on bags. "Have a nice evening."

"Thank you," I reply. "You too."

The Hondas are waiting for me by the baggage claim area. I shoot my mother a text, then turn my phone off and introduce myself to the Hondas. Mr. Honda is a quiet man, but there's something gentle in his eyes, a light I could never see in my own father's eyes. He tells me he is glad to meet me, and I know he means it. Mrs. Honda is sweet and small and bubbly, asking about my flight and whether I'm hungry and how I'm doing and about a million other things.

Kiku laughs. "Mom, don't overwhelm him!"

I smile politely. "It's very nice to meet you all."

On the car ride back to the airport, Mr. Honda turns on the radio and hums along to American music, and Mrs. Honda is trying to talk to him about school supplies, rolling her eyes when she realizes he hasn't been paying her a bit of attention. Kiku was right. They are a very American family, in the best sort of way. Kiku takes out his phone and shows me pictures of their cat, some tabby-type thing they named Kotori Mewnami (Ko for short).

He is easy to talk to, and I find myself relaxing. The whole family is easy to talk to, and for the first time in seventeen years, I allow myself to be swept away into an easier world. A world where your parents act like they care about you and you get to have a family pet and there are photo albums and hugs and birthday celebrations.

I know I am lucky. I have gotten an excellent host family. Now, underneath my happiness, there is some disappointment. Disappointment that this is not my family. Kiku is not my brother, and the Hondas are not my parents. For a year, they will be. Then what?

But I block this out. I ignore it and enjoy the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for coming back for chapter two! Also, I don't want the plot to move along too quickly, but I don't want things to feel like they're dragging along, either. Let me know if it's too fast or too detailed, or maybe even just right. Thank you for reading!_

* * *

My alarm goes off at half past six. I roll out of bed and hurry to the shower, then get dressed quickly. Though my parents didn't teach me much, they did enforce that I should be polite and courteous, so I'm careful not to keep Kiku waiting. He has his own car, a well-kept secondhand thing that runs smoothly and is neat on the inside.

I get downstairs before Kiku, and I see that Mrs. Honda has made breakfast.

My parents never made breakfast.

"For your first day," she says cheerfully. Kiku joins us at the kitchen table a moment later. "Aw, Kiku, your last year of high school. You're getting so grown up. Have fun. And don't be worried, Arthur. I'm sure it'll all be great."

I nod, shoveling down her homemade waffles with extra syrup. This past week has been a blur. I got my stuff settled in the Hondas' guest room, made sure I had everything ready for school, and went to downtown Seattle with Kiku, where he showed me his favorite coffeehouses, all the places that are popular, and the areas I should avoid at all costs. He says if we have a clear, sunny weekend, we should go to Port Angeles.

Kiku is enjoyable to spend time with. He is not too quiet but not too loud, and he always seems to sense the right thing to say. I feel that I can be honest and comfortable around him. I'm not too worried about school, either. Kiku promised me he'd introduce me to his friends, and he said that if things go terribly, I can always pretend I'm an exchange student from an obscure European country and my English skills are not very good. I laughed at this for a while, but after he went to bed, I got my backup story ready: _Hi, my name is Sergei, and I am from Vladivostok... I am sure you have never heard of it..._

Finally, we are in the car, heading to school. The drive is, according to Kiku, about fifteen minutes. Kiku tells me to control the radio, and I immediately find the first alt-rock station I can. He grins.

We've been driving for about five minutes when Kiku says, "Are you scared?"

"Scared? No," I say. I mean, it's not a _complete_ lie. I'm just a bit nervous. "Why do you ask?"

"You keep playing with your necklace," Kiku says, looking in the rearview mirror. "You always seem to do that when you get nervous. Like when that crazy preacher guy approached us by the Starbucks the other day. Your hand flew straight to your throat."

I laugh, surprised he has noticed such a detail about me. I stop messing with my cross necklace and clasp my hands together.

Kiku waits another minute before asking, "Where'd you get the necklace?"

"Oh, it's my brother's."

"I didn't know you had a brother."

I grunt. Kiku senses I don't want to talk about this and changes the subject. "Okay, a few of my friends got exchange students, too. But with this program, many of the students were from different countries. I know you're British, obviously. I think there's four of you in total: you, a Belarusian girl, a Romanian guy, and a Finnish guy, I think? The other exchange students must have ended up in different schools in the area." He shrugs. "Well, I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here, too." I don't tell him I've only contacted my parents once in the week I've been here: An e-mail telling my mother I was safe and that the Hondas were nice. I did not ask about her or my father, because I don't care. And anyway, she wouldn't waste time e-mailing me unless it were an emergency.

A song that I know comes on the radio, and I sing along. Kiku notices and looks at me. I stop, thinking I must be annoying him—my parents never let me sing along in the car—but after a pause, he smiles and starts singing along too. Our voices get louder and louder until we're practically screaming the words, laughing and sounding terrible. That's how we pull into the school's parking lot, shouting the words to _R.I.P. 2 My Youth._

I look over at Kiku.

I really like this guy.

* * *

To my dismay, Kiku and I don't have our first class together, but I think I'll be all right. It's really rainy and gloomy in Seattle, but I'm used to it. It's not like London's weather is much better. Still, rain makes me sleepy, so staying awake is going to be a challenge.

I tell the first-period teacher I am the foreign exchange student. He smiles, says his name is Mr. Køhler, and tells me to sit wherever I want. Class doesn't start for twenty minutes, and I can't exactly go into the hallway and throw myself into the fray, where hundreds and hundreds of teenagers who I don't know are crowding around and screaming about not having seen each other in three months. Disgusting.

Mr. Køhler sees me standing by my desk, awkwardly looking out into the busy hallway. "Don't know anyone yet, eh?"

"Kiku Honda," I say hesitantly.

"Oh. He's a good kid, that one is. Had him last year in an advanced class." Mr. Køhler pauses, tapping his chin. "Why don't I assign you a guide, huh? Someone to show you around and stick with you?"

That sounds embarrassing. "Oh, um, it's—"

"Now, don't be shy, Mr. Kirkland! Ah. Here. Jones! Would you show this boy around?" Mr. Køhler is waving to another student who just walked into the classroom. "Arthur, this is Alfred. Alfred, do you mind showing Arthur around? He's the British exchange student."

I turn and look at Alfred. He's taller than I am, with dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and glasses. He's wearing a green army jacket, jeans, black Converse, and a dog tag necklace. He smiles at me. "Hi!"

"Hello," I say emotionlessly. God, I know I sound biased, but I don't usually befriend people like Alfred. He looks like a stereotypical self-assured loudmouth who gets way too into American football and is making plans to join the army. At least, if he were in a television show, that's who he'd be.

"Well," Alfred says after an awkward pause, "why don't I show you around?"

 _No, that's okay._ "Sure," I say, following him into the hall. To my surprise, instead of shoving through the crowd, he ducks into an emptier hallway.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a shortcut to the library," he says. "I thought you'd like a less crowded route."

"Oh," I say. "Well, thank you."

"Why isn't your host showing you around?" Alfred asks.

"He had to do something with the Student Council," I reply. "First-day-of-school president stuff."

Alfred's eyes light up with recognition. "Oh, Kiku's your host? He's really nice. Do you like him?"

"Yeah. He's great."

"You don't _sound_ like you think he's great."

"Well, he is."

"Oh. You've just got this voice that sounds like, I don't know, you've just witnessed the death of all your loved ones. I'm sorry. Was that rude?"

"Yeah," I snap. "It was."

"I didn't mean it." Alfred stops walking. "Well, this is the library. The music wing is that way, and the cafeteria is down there. There's another building through that door for the arts, and the theater is down the stairs."

"Okay," I reply. "Thanks."

Alfred looks like he's about to leave, then stops, balancing between walking away and staying. "Look, Arthur. Just tell me five—no, _one_ thing about yourself."

I sigh deeply. Is this really necessary? I'm about ready to go into the art room and make a voodoo doll of Mr. Køhler to get back at him for pairing me with this idiot. "A thing about myself? Let's see. I've murdered five people, and I've got a dead body hiding in the car."

Alfred's jaw drops. "What? Really?"

"Huh?! Of course not, idiot! I can't sleep with socks on."

Alfred laughs. "I can't sleep with socks on, either."

"You."

"What?"

"Now you've got to tell me something about yourself."

Alfred pauses. "Hmm. Just now."

"Just now what?"

"Just now, you smiled. And I thought it was very nice." Alfred waves. "Now, I'm gonna go say hi to my friends, okay? I really hope you're gonna love it here!" With that, he starts walking away, humming to himself.

I roll my eyes and take the long way back to the classroom.

* * *

Classes here are very easy. Of course, they should be, as back home, my parents would practically disown me every time I got a mark that was less than perfect. And even when I got superb scores on things, they just acted like it was expected. I was first in my class and I did not get a glimmer of recognition from my parents. My mother is a doctor and my father is a lawyer, and they have stressed how important it is that I do everything right.

I had to get away from them.

I meet several more people throughout the day. Kiku and I have a class together, and as promised he introduces me to some friends—a pretty girl named Mei Xiao and Yao, who has been Kiku's friend since fourth grade—and it's not until chemistry that disaster strikes. The teacher has a list of lab partners written out on the board, and people are crowded around, trying to see. I shoulder my way through and scan the list until I find my name.

My lab partner... are you kidding me? It's Alfred Jones.

I groan and head over to the window, throwing my stuff down at a lab station. God. I don't look up when Alfred sits down, but he says, "Can you believe we're lab partners?"

"Nope," I grumble. I already know where this is going. It's an awful cliché: throw together two people enough and they'll start to think there's some sort of fate about their meeting. Pass. I start fiddling with my cross necklace, listening to the teacher go over the syllabus, when Alfred says, "We should get coffee after school."

"Are you talking to me?" I hiss rhetorically.

Alfred flinches. "Look, do you have some sort of problem with me?"

I exhale. "No. No, I don't. I'm sorry. But I have to go home with Kiku."

"Oh, okay." Alfred pulls out a sheet of paper and starts writing something. I don't know what he's doing—we're just going over the course and classroom rules—so I ignore him. Sure, he seems really annoying, but I hope I haven't hurt his feelings too bad. Maybe I'll apologize properly at the end of class.

About fifteen minutes later, he slides me the sheet of notebook paper he's been scribbling on. It's list.

 _Hi there,_ it says. _This list has twenty items. In the first ten, I have filled out ten things about myself. The last ten are empty. I want you to fill them out with things about yourself. Thanks._

Oh, for heaven's sake! I contain an eye roll and begin to read the list.

 _1\. I, as you know, can't sleep with socks on._

 _2\. I only drink my coffee black._

 _3\. I'm not very good at cooking._

 _4\. I like thunderstorms._

 _5\. I'm not a huge fan of pop music._

 _6\. I always put sugar in my tea._

 _7\. I like to drive with the windows open when it's not raining._

 _8\. I like looking at the stars._

 _9\. I can't play the piano. But I want to learn someday._

 _10\. Meeting new people is difficult for me._

I frown.

I look over at Alfred. Thankfully, he's focused toward the front of the classroom. I look away quickly, blushing slightly.

How am I supposed to say that everything that Alfred wrote on his list is exactly what I would have written?


End file.
